Free Every Hidden Thing by Kenneth Oppel Page A

said. “I believe the parlor car will be serving restorative beverages by now.”
    As we entered, the attendant was just unlocking the liquor cabinet. Its mirrored shelves were filled with festive-looking bottles. As diners finished their meals, the car filled till there were no more seats. People stood about, holding their cigars and drinks.
    My father ordered whiskey. Many Quakers disapproved ofliquor, but my father wasn’t one of them. He pressed a drink into my hand; I was still unaccustomed but took it back in two slugs. It seared sweetly all the way down. A hot bloom started through me. I felt the train’s restless pulse through my feet. Rex-ex-ex, rex-ex-ex, rex-ex-ex . . . My father soon had a group of Yale students around him, asking about his finds. Tumblers hit the bar and were refilled. Mine included. Cigar and pipe and cigarette smoke thickened. A group of students began to sing, and I smiled this time.
    Let me introduce a fellah, Lardy dah! Lardy dah!
    A fellah who’s a swell, ah, Lardy dah!
    From the corner of my eye I saw Rachel, sitting in a corner by the window. She was not drinking, nor was her father. I wanted to go talk to her more than anything.
    Suddenly the singing seemed louder, a familiar voice yodeling above the rest. Sure enough, when I looked, my father had joined arms with four other Yalies as they swayed back and forth, belting out:
    As he saunters through the street,
    He is just too awful sweet;
    To observe him is a treat, Lardy dah! Lardy dah!
    He had a terrible voice, my father, but it never stopped him from singing with huge enthusiasm.
    In his hand a penny stick,
    In his mouth a quill tooth-pick,
    Not a penny in his pocket, Lardy-dah!
    Which might be our situation, if Father kept buying everyone drinks. He was slapping another bill down on the bar for the attendant. Much cheering and backslapping and raising of glasses. Someone pushed a glass into my hand. I had to admit, Father knew how to commandeer a room.
    â€œHow much have you spent?” I shouted into his ear, pulling him aside.
    â€œA pittance,” he said, grinning. “And a small price to pay for what I just learned.” He winked. “North Platte.”
    Just like he’d hoped: Cartland’s group would be getting off the train at two in the morning. And I was headed on into Wyoming. Leaving Rachel far behind.
    Father was elated. “And when we find our rex ,” he said, leaning close to me, face flushed, “I’m naming it after you.”
    A jolt went up my spine. “Really?”
    â€œOf course! You practically funded this expedition! And you’ll be at my side with your keen eye!”
    I wasn’t sure I believed him, especially in his current state, but it didn’t stop the ballooning of happiness in my chest. My name. The perfect piece in my collection. Before I could even thank him, he was swallowed back up by Cartland’s adoring students, who were embarking on the well-known temperance song “Dinna Forget yer Promise, Jamie.”
    Dinna forget yer promise, Jamie,
    Dinna forget to think o’ me.
    Let me kiss ye sweet gude bye,
    Let me kiss ye sweet gude bye.
    The Yale students were making a big show of grasping their pals and planting big smacks on their cheeks. Someone kissed my cheek too, and my heart kicked. Rachel. But when I looked over I saw that it was Mrs. Cummins. She laughed at my surprised face, and then my father took her hand and led her in a dance. They seemed very cozy with each other.
    I looked back at Rachel, alone now at the table, and was seized by the panic I wouldn’t see her again. I’d never felt anything quite like it. I downed my drink, started toward her, not having a clue what I’d say.
    I sat down next to her. Bold, since she hadn’t invited me, but this was the Wild West and there was singing and I’d had whiskey.
    â€œI wanted to say good-bye.”
    â€œAre you getting off soon?” she